9. Shayla
9
SHAYLA
“ T he cancer is back.” My mom’s words from the other night bounced around in my head like a ping pong ball. I couldn’t stop replaying them over and over again. I wanted her to take them back, to rewind back to the day before as we talked and laughed over dinner at something her coworker did. Now, she would likely have to quit her job or go on disability while another round of chemo ravaged her body.
A tear leaked unbidden down my cheek, and I swiped it away. I wasn’t sure how I could possibly have anymore tears left to cry. I’d managed to hold it together at work the past few days—though everyone could tell something was off—but I’d spent my evenings crying into my pillow and sobbing in the shower until the water ran cold. I cried for my mom and the pain she would have to endure. Again. I cried for the years she would be cheated out of if she didn’t go into remission again. The doctor’s new plan was aggressive, but would it be enough to save her? Would the surgery and radiation and chemotherapy buy her a few more years? A few months? They seemed hopeful, but there were so many unknowns.
Then there was the issue of paying for her treatments. We still owed the hospital a substantial amount from the last time she was sick. Her insurance was shit and had fought her every step of the way. The doctors wrote countless letters and submitted forms on her behalf, and they ended up covering more than they’d initially quoted, but her out-of-pocket expenses were still enough to nearly financially cripple us. Did my father, who was a successful attorney and probably made six figures a year, help her at all? Nope.
The woman whom he’d once claimed to love, who had birthed his children, had battled a life-threatening disease, and he couldn’t be bothered to care. He was the reason she was in this abysmal financial position, after all.
Prior to my parents splitting up, she’d been a stay-at-home mom. Though my sister and I were her top priority, she’d always wanted a career. But my father insisted she stay home. He wanted a trophy wife and a family he could control. At the time, she didn’t realize what he was doing was financial abuse or that she was married to a narcissist. It wasn’t until they divorced that she started to unpack all the years of trauma from living under his thumb.
He’d broken her down and crushed her spirit. So much so that the day he came home and told her he was leaving her for his secretary, she didn’t even fight it. She’d known it was coming. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an affair, but it was the first time he didn’t immediately break it off when she found out. Little did she know the devastation that would follow him leaving her, leaving us .
The judge was an old golf buddy of my father’s—as were all the judges in town—and awarded her the bare minimum for child support. The spousal support she received was even more laughable. Sure, she was forced to take an entry-level job since she had no recent work experience. But she had the potential to earn more since she had a degree, so they used that as an excuse to award her less. Unfortunately, jobs in Willow Brook Falls were scarce, and commuting forty minutes each way into the city wasn’t ideal with two kids in school who were in multiple after school activities (ones she could barely afford to keep us in at times).
To say money was tight was an understatement. We were finally starting to get ahead when Mom got sick. I had to step up and take on full-time hours at work—while carrying a full class load—just to keep us afloat.
I nearly failed half of my classes that semester. Working so much and battling a yet-to-be-diagnosed autoimmune disorder hadn’t made for a very conducive learning environment. I had no one to rely on. My mom was sick, and my sister was just a kid, an angsty teenager battling her own issues and dealing with high school bullies. My dad was too busy banging his secretary, whom he was now married to, to be there for me. And my long term, on again off again boyfriend was too concerned about me getting fat to care that I was slowly dying inside. He was the dead weight I had to cut loose, so I did. He wasn’t the first in a long line of men who’d let me down, nor was he the last. There’d been plenty since. Hence, why I was determined to stick to my man ban.
Sighing, I rubbed at my temples to stave off the headache building behind my eyes. I didn’t have the time or energy for any distractions, especially not the arrogant, six-foot-five inch kind of distraction whose ultimate goal in life was to torment me. That was why after I’d introduced the guys to their new post-workout regimen, I'd stayed tucked away in the kitchen while the rest of the staff handed out their smoothies. I didn’t have the mental capacity for our verbal sparring and worried I’d burst into tears right in front of him. I’d gotten so good at masking my feelings when he was around, I couldn't risk it.
Squeezing my lids shut to force the remaining moisture from my eyes, I slid my chopping knife from the block and grabbed a cutting board from the cabinet. I’d been working all week on developing new smoothie recipes since getting lost in my work was the only thing that distracted me from the dire reality of our situation.
“What concoction are you brewing up now?” I jumped at the sound of my sister’s voice. Makenna leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, eyeing me skeptically as I sliced up a mango. I’d been completely focused on the task at hand and hadn’t noticed her presence until she spoke.
I picked up a sliver of mango and offered it to her.
“Mango, pineapple, kale smoothie,” I answered. She uncrossed her arms, pushing her glasses up her nose as she stepped up to the counter and took the proffered fruit.
“Sounds gross,” she answered, never one to hold back before popping the mango into her mouth. I rolled my eyes, but a low chuckle escaped my lips.
“You won’t even be able to taste the kale,” I declared as I scooped up the fruit and added it to the blender. She watched me carefully as I roughly chopped the kale.
“You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”
“Mmm, hmm,” I answered absently.
“Is it because of Mom?”
I paused mid-slice and turned my attention to her. She nervously chewed the side of her lip, and guilt washed over me. I’d been so lost in my head, wading through my grief that I hadn’t checked in with her following Mom’s diagnosis.
“What do you mean?” I croaked out through my suddenly dry throat.
“When Mom got sick the first time, you dove headfirst into your studies, looking for anything that could help her.” Damn, thirteen-year-old Makenna had been more observant than I realized. “You followed every study related to nutrition and cancer you could find. You were like a dog with a bone. When she finished chemo, she was so frail and weak, but you were determined to help her regain her strength. You never gave up, no matter how many obstacles you faced. Now you’re at home, on a Saturday night, testing out smoothie recipes for your players. And I can’t help but wonder if everything that happened to Mom is why you’re so dedicated to what you do.”
“That’s part of it,” I confirmed. Food was powerful. It could be used to heal our bodies, manage certain disease processes, and reduce the risk of cancer. Although I was growing skeptical of that last part considering my mother’s cancer returned even after I meticulously crafted a diet specifically around those foods. I shook away those thoughts before continuing, opening up like I never had before. “But it was also part of healing my own relationship with food. I wanted to see it as fuel for my body, a way to stay strong and healthy and not obsess over everything I ate and how it would affect the number on the scale.” My voice caught at the end. This was the first time I’d ever been so candid with her about my struggles with body image. That was something I was always careful to shield her from. I didn’t want my negative self-talk to influence how she felt about herself. I wanted her to look in the mirror and see the beautiful, smart, kind-hearted girl everyone else did, not the perceived imperfections women were told to eliminate to increase their self-worth.
She nodded her understanding. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You took care of us when Mom got sick, even at the expense of your health. You stood up for yourself when Calvin bullied you for gaining weight and kicked his ass to the curb.” I winced as tears stung the backs of my eyes.
She’d been watching this whole time. She must have seen how my ex berated and belittled me when I was no longer his perfect size six arm candy. Little did she know, I took Calvin’s shit for far longer than I should have, but I wouldn’t admit that now. Not when I was the one she looked up to. Not when I had an example to set.
Overcome with emotion, I dropped my knife and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” I whispered into her hair, letting the flowery scent of her shampoo envelop me. It felt good to have someone notice you and admire your strength, even if you didn’t feel strong. Everything I did was merely to survive, to get through that difficult time in my life.
We were both teary eyed and sniffling when I finally pulled away. “So,” I breathed, swiping under my eyes, “you ready to try this smoothie?”
Makenna chuckled and shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“How about some hot fudge cake?” I asked, quirking a brow. It was something I usually only made for her birthday, but our heart to heart warranted some comfort food.
A huge grin split her face. “Now, that’s more like it.”
“Of course, we’d get the cart with the messed up wheel,” I grumbled as I straightened the shopping cart for what seemed like the millionth time. After scouring the kitchen, I realized we were missing a few of the ingredients we needed to make my sister’s favorite dessert. So here we were, grocery shopping on a Saturday evening while most of our peers were getting ready for a night out on the town.
Most of my friends had settled down over the past few years, and some even had children. These days, when we met up for the occasional get-together—like the girls’ night out where I met the infuriatingly attractive hockey player I was doing my best not to think about—we usually had dinner and drinks or saw a movie. We didn’t get nearly as rowdy as we used to. My sister and her friends were self-proclaimed “nerds” who never partied or got into any trouble. Even now that she was in college, she still preferred to come home on the weekends and hang out with me and Mom … when our father allowed it.
Being a freshman, she wasn’t permitted to have a car on campus and had to rely on our father and stepbrother to take her back and forth when she wanted to come home for a visit. When Brody had a home game, Dad expected her to stay and go with him and Phoebe, his wife, to watch him play. She had no choice but to go along with it since he paid for everything. He’d practically forced her to go to the same school as Brody despite her protestations. But he had the money, so he controlled everything. And I fucking resented him for it.
Shoving down those feelings, I focused on the here and now. I wanted to spend time with my baby sister. We hadn’t been able to catch up lately, and I wanted to know all about how school was going. We texted every day, but it wasn’t the same as binging rom-coms until the wee hours of the morning like we used to.
“How about some fresh strawberries to go on the top?” Makenna said as I snagged the last jar of chocolate fudge off the shelf.
“Sure,” I agreed easily. I never turned down fresh berries.
We were deep in conversation about the latest drama overtaking Makenna’s chess club when we rounded the end cap and came to a screeching halt.
“Shit,” I hissed, catching sight of a tall, familiar frame and mop of perfectly tousled dark hair. What the hell was he doing here?
I attempted to turn the buggy around so I could escape before he saw me, but the wheel that had become the bane of my existence chose that very moment to lock up. Frantically, I tried to wiggle it free, but it refused to budge.
“Shay, what’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck,” I growled as sweat beaded on my brow. The last thing I wanted was to see the flawlessly handsome hockey star while wearing stained sweatpants, my mom’s old D.A.R.E. t-shirt, no makeup and three-day old hair tossed into a messy bun.
“Shay,” Makenna repeated, voice laced with trepidation.
“Just a sec,” I said as I continued to struggle with dislodging the locked wheel. Finally, with one sharp tug, it broke loose. Then to my horror, it went careening into a display, and I watched helplessly as an avalanche of shiny red apples began to roll and tumble off the edge before pooling at my feet. I stood frozen, mouth agape as I stared at the pile of fruit.
“Are you stalking me?” My head shot up, and my eyes met familiar hazel ones, alight with amusement.
“What? No!” I screeched, squatting to pick up the pile of fruit that was likely now bruised and unsellable.
And maybe to hide my face which was surely as red as said apples.
He chuckled. The son of a bitch chuckled .
“Then how do you keep showing up where I’m at?” he asked as he kneeled in front of me to scoop up several apples and place them back on the display. They really shouldn’t have piled them so high. It was like they were asking for someone to accidentally knock them over.
I chanced a glance at Easton, and he cocked his brow skeptically in challenge. To be fair, this was only the third time that had happened. The night we met, I was there first. The second time around, I had no idea my friends would choose the same bar he’d be at with Mariah Stevenson. I swallowed hard, forcing down the jealousy that still welled in my chest when I thought about them together.
“Wh-what are you even doing here?” I sputtered, shaking away those thoughts. Surely he’d rather do his shopping at one of the big chain stores in Richmond, not at this little mom and pop grocery store that had probably been owned by the same family for the last century.
He glanced around, holding up a hand to wave in the general vicinity of the store.
“Grocery shopping,” he answered. The “duh” was implied. I huffed and rolled my eyes.
“I mean, what are you doing in Willow Brook Falls?” Standing with my arms full of produce, I turned to drop them back on the display. Easton followed my lead, his arms loaded down as well.
“I live here,” he replied, and my mouth fell open in surprise. The apples slipped from my grasp, several of them falling to the floor in a heap. If they hadn’t been ruined before, they surely were now. He chuckled again, and the sound went straight through me. I balled my fists and gritted my teeth.
“Why are you here?” he asked, enjoying my displeasure a little too much.
“ I live here,” I ground out. “Have all my life.” There. I staked my claim on this town. I belonged here. He was just an interloper. A distractingly gorgeous interloper.
“Well, I guess we’d better get used to seeing each other around, Neighbor .”